Bloodhounds
by Amarus
Summary: The whole of North America is in the middle of a Cold War between the werewolves, led by Peter Hale, and the Humans, with the Argents in charge. Meanwhile, underground, the Grimms form the resistance. Stiles Stilinski is one of their more valuable members until he gets captured, and his captor and him learn that they may have more in common than they first realize.
1. Prologue

The streets are empty. There're two really good reasons for that, no matter how different they might be.

The first one is danger. If the city is dangerous during the daytime, it's deathly on the night; in the center, there're soldiers walking around, ready to shoot anyone who doesn't wear uniforms with government's patch on them.  
And, on the edges of the city, are the Slums and the forests.

Slums seem often empty for a bare eye, but if you know what to search for, you can find traces of living there.  
People don't go to the Slums, no matter what.

And in the forests... In the forests live the Omegas.  
Most of them are completely harmless, just werewolves that have decided to wash their hands out of the government's dirty laundry - but some of them are just hollowed shells, rapid beasts with kill-drive.

Going out after the sunset is a Russian roulette - claws or gun.

The second reason is the curfew. The curfew closed few hours ago and disobedience just draws special kind of attention towards you and your family.

Understandingly, no one's out after the sun sets. No one's stupid or suicidal enough to be.

Except for the 'ghosts' - the human equals to Omegas.

They're the ones that have gone missing, those whose whole existence is a big question mark. Ghosts have nothing to lose. Their families have either died or disappeared, their identity and basics rights have been taken away. They have nothing left to protect and therefore they have no reason to feign loyalty to the Alpha or stay enslaved in their racist society. They're just shadows of the human-beings they once were.

Stiles Stilinski is one of the ghosts. He became one when he was just few months away from filling thirteen, year after Peter Hale took over. Peter Hale is one of the weres, the head of the 'Full Moon' - and not the kind of person you want to meet on the dark alleyway. Especially if you're human, because, simply put, Peter hates humans. When his government replaced the old one, human-authorities were hunted. No matter if you were a politician or a police-officer, teacher or a cashier. You were put to a test, and if you failed, you were put to prison. If you passed and you were lucky, you could keep your job - under surveillance, of course.

Stiles's father fled. He was the member of the Old World and if he was put to the tests, there was no way he would pass. Not with his record and not with werewolves sensing it when you lie.  
He put Stiles, his only child, to live with the McCalls, old family-friends, and left with heavy heart. Most parents didn't have any other option than leave their children behind and hope that they would be safer that way.

Stiles was, understandably, grilled for the whereabouts or any hints to help them track his father but he was bright kid. He wasn't sheriff's son for nothing. He played dumb and after few hours when he gave them nothing but confused glances and stupid questions irrelevant to the situation, they let him get back to his new family.

They continued living normal lives with his best friend Scott, Scott's mother taking care of him like he was one of her own. He held great respect and affection towards Melissa McCall, for taking him under her wing like she did - not every person would take a hungry mouth under their roof on the time of civil war. He showed his gratitude by doing house-chores and making dinner almost every day.  
It hadn't been easy for the woman to keep her job, and the income wasn't exactly enormous compared her working-hours.

He tried to live under the radar, behave nicely at school - even though Mr. Harris seemed to have problems with his face and he spent almost every afternoon on the stupid class with the stupid teacher when all the stupid children got to their stupid homes where their stupid parents waited for them while he was sitting some stupid detention - and just... Being as invisible as possible.  
Scott was with him on this plan; neither of them wanted to cause any trouble to Melissa.

But Stiles was an energetic kid and it was inevitable that he got anxious and restless at school after a few first weeks, his patience wearing thinner and thinner with Mr. Harris and the sheer normalcy.  
He had no one to complain to, nowhere to escape.

One day Melissa knocked on his door, stepping inside. She looked tired but happy, calling him quietly.  
She had received a letter from his father.

That was the first time Stiles cried after being left on McCall's, relieve for his father being alive washing over him in the form of tearing sobs.

And he kept on fighting, kept himself under check and didn't draw any attention to himself.  
For his dad.

But even with his father's memory burning inside him, it took only three months.

Three months he grit his teeth and went on with the dull everyday-life until one day Stiles heard about the Grimms.  
It was, and is, an underground-project moving children and adults from the war-zone to safety, to the neutral land.

After few weeks of investigating the group, he got to know his father was part of that movement. That's when Stiles decided he had had enough of this crap: if his father was still endangering his life in daily basis to help others, he wasn't going to just fiddle his thumbs.

He started to dig around, discreetly getting to know about the cell that was working in Beacon Hills, collecting information and knowledge. He started to run small errands to prove his trustworthiness, slowly getting to know better and better the ones working with the Grimms. He got to know the 'big factors', slipping out at night and around the town.  
And after a while changing messages with Coach, he finally got the permission to join.

When everything was ready, he thanked Ms. McCall for everything, said goodbyes to Scott and next day skipped school and went underground. It was just as easy as it sounded. Disappearing in a wreck of a city like this is hardly a challenge.

And so his life as a ghost started.

He's still, after almost four years, a person of interest. He finds it hilarious. Shouldn't they think he's dead by now?

His family is practically non-existent; when his father fled and disappeared, he was announced dead to the public. Honestly, he's on the other side of the country, helping people cross border to the no-man's land away from the danger. But it's not like authorities know any better.

And Stiles's mother is dead - murdered, actually.

His mother was a politician. When population got to know that werewolves are existing creatures, the world as they knew it rumbled down in just few years. The existence of new race was raised to be a political issue: do humans have the right to lock down bunch of creatures just because of their race? Some thought that yes, we have. Hunters came from all around the world to discuss the matter, new laws were born and to put it mildly, werewolves weren't pleased with them. Fear against the unknown made the predators preys and so werewolves were taken their rights away.

After a disastrous shooting in one of the biggest meetings and the burn of the Hale House, the situation escalated quickly: Wolf's Bane and Full Moon stood their ground furiously and the hopes of peace shattered.  
Old World lost its footing and in a blink of an eye, the whole country had divided to three areas.

Those areas were, and still are, controlled by three different political parties: there is the 'Wolf's Bane', who believes that werewolves are nothing but parasites, animals that have to be captured or put down for they pose only danger to society. The old clan of hunters, the Argents, are head of this party, Gerard Argent as the leader.

Then there is 'Full Moon', who deems that humans are weak and easily intimidated and so werewolves should take over. Most of the werewolves were angry and afraid enough to join this party when the issue was pressuring the whole country, the leaders of it changing rapidly; when you put bunch of insecure and scared Alphas in a small town, there is fights between the packs in daily basis. The pack-dynamics are still unstable with the rush of changes.  
When the putsch happened, Peter Hale was on the lead and he still has irony grip over his position.

And then there was 'Old World', the smallest of the parties. Somehow it always seems like the people with a message of peace are the ones to be shut down the quickest. Old World thought that things had been good enough before, that there was no reason to start a race-war between werewolves and humans. Hales and Stilinskis were maybe the biggest names in these circles but there wasn't really a leader here. Their group was calm and collected enough to work with democracy, something that the two other parties missed. When the country split up, the Old World followed its lead.

He doesn't like to talk about his mother or what happened. When someone asks, he just shrugs and tells that his mother is the reason why he and his father are still fighting, why they're giving a hand to those who need it. That's all he says on the matter before he starts babbling, effectively distracting his chat-buddy from the subject.

He's good at that.

His mother is also the reason why he's standing in the middle of the silent city. His lower face is covered with muzzle-like mask, hood of his hoodie pulled over his head to hide his identity. He has been one of the Grimms for three years now and they have all adopted aliases.

The Grimms changed from the simple 'get-people-out-of-here' to a more complicated type; they help the other ghosts that live in the Slums, give food and other supplies to the families that have lost their jobs and can't afford living.  
And every now and then - more 'now' than 'then', really -, they sabotage werewolves' operations.

Most say they're insane, that their whole little group is completely nuts. That they're fighting a long-lost battle and few civil-movements are doing no difference.  
Stiles just snorts when he hears that. Mostly because it's bullshit and partly because he has always thought he was a little bit insane anyway. He has all the right reasons to keep fighting, and if that makes him nutcase…

So be it.

#

Orange-ish brown eyes scan the shadows between the buildings, the boy - he's only sixteen - swinging the slightly blood-stained bat lazily on his side.  
Like a clockwork to give him the feeling that time is actually moving on.

On a life-style like his, time tends to disappear. Is only fear, stress, relieve, days after days after days full of hiding and running. When you lose the illusion of time, you start to appreciate it.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock says the clock… Not that he owns a clock anymore. Or okay, he _does_ own a clock, it just isn't a working one. It broke when an asshole tried to chomp his hand off - not a pleasurable experience.  
Actually it was very, _very_ nasty experience because Danny had to stitch him up while he was still fighting off the aftershock. And tears. And puke.  
Not that he managed to actually fight any of them off, but whatever.

And fuck everyone, he was barely thirteen at the time, he had just found the Grimms and usually when big blood-thirsty were-creature tries to gnaw your hand off and almost handicaps you on an evening-walk, it tends to upset you and your stomach.

… He's not proud about that day.

And now, he's waiting for someone - or maybe more like some_thing_, but he has always been more comfortable with viewing werewolves on the he-she-factor - with broken watch on his wrist and he's deeply regretting his decision not to get a new one.  
He sighs, his foot tapping on the ground impatiently, his gaze sliding around. He's constantly failing on his attempts to stop moving or focus on his surroundings, but his thoughts are like quicksilver.

Adderall must be wearing off.

Suddenly the shadows on the corner of his eye move. He turns around quicker than than a person normally could, his whole body taut and ready to fight or flee. At the very second his and his opponent's eyes meet, he relaxes, letting his other hand slip off the bat where it had moved to grip it.  
That deep-red glare would be more than enough to scare the shit out of him if he didn't know their owner.

"Yo. You really took your time today. Problems in the weredise?" he asks, flopping down to sit on the cold concrete. The wolf, the _were_wolf, rolls her eyes and walks with elegant steps the few meters still parting them. She headbutts the teen's chest affectionately and Stiles threads his fingers through the thick fur on the wolf's neck.

"Hey. Missed you too." he says softly, the heat radiating off from the wolf to his slightly numb fingers. She lets out content hum, already busy with scent-marking him, rubbing her head against the boy's hoodie and practically sitting on his lap. It doesn't sound problematic and it really isn't; for a wolf, she's suprisingly sleek and small.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you love me, but... Ugh, man, you weight a ton, you know that?" he earns a growl, and he chuckles "Okay, whatever. Not gonna poke on the sensitive area of weight anymore. You're such a-" another warning growl, a playful edge on it and Stiles cuts himself off, grinning widely.

"Alright, alright. Do you have the blueprints? It's not safe in here"

The wolf huffs, forcing her snout in from the neckline of Stiles's hoodie and breathing the boy's scent in, her breath warm on his skin. He giggles a – very manly, thank you very much - giggle, before swatting her playfully.

"Don't 'huff' at me! I'm the great, amazing Stiles 'Slinky' Stilinski! They've got nothin' on me!" he exclaims and the wolf pulls her head back, giving the teen unimpressed look.  
Huh, who knew wolves could be so good at giving negative expressions? Or maybe that's something only Stiles can make them master.

He should feel special.

He pats her head, grinning behind the mask.

"Don't give me that look, I'm serious. Too bad you can't see how serious I'm being, but I am. Being. Very, _very serious_. Look at these serious eyebrows" he frowns with a deep concentration and the wolf just huffs again, her look getting, if possible, even more unimpressed.

That, people, is a very impressing look on a wolf.

"Nah, but I've got a point here, even thought my eyebrows aren't made for it. A point even your expressiveness and amazing alpha-eyes can't deny. I'm just a little boy on a run; if they get me, and that's a big-ass _if_, the worst that can happen is that they imprison me. Or throw me back to school. I can't even decide which one is worse, I mean dude, do you know the shit they teach us? It's unbelievable. You should have been there few years ago it was-"  
She pokes him with her muzzle "Oh yeah, sorry. And you, in the other hand, they'll tear you to shreds. And I'm not a professional shredder or anything, but usually getting torn to shreds equals death. Believe me, your insides work way better when they're _in_sides and not _out_sides, you get what I'm meaning? So the final result is that this is way more dangerous to your furry self than to me", he says, scratching the behind of her ear.

" I've got enough stuff to fight for, Laur, that's a party I don't want you to take a part to" Laura pushes against his hand, and Stiles sighs.  
"It's a party you don't want to attend. It's like, the lamest party ever. You girl, you are such a party-queen, queen of parties, that you deserve much better parties that aren't so wholly beneath you. There's not even Cheetos anymore, thanks to one asshole and if that doesn't ruin a party, I don't know what does. So let's not take part on stupid parties, okay?" he mutters, knowing he probably doesn't even make any sense and the wolf sighs.

"Yeah, I don't even know myself", he chuckles, then pushing the wolf so that she has to move, although she does it very reluctantly. "Now, those blueprints. Lead the way, Gollum", he says with a wide grin, getting up and Laura gives him slightly condemning look.

"Well?"

She sighs, shaking her head a little before turning around and heading to the way she came from. She's not going to wait for him and Stiles picks up his bat quickly, jogging after her.

_Alphas_.


	2. the Start of the Countdown

Laura Hale.  
Derek Hale's sister, one of the three survivals of the Hale fire.

Laura is Peter Hale's relative, his niece and the legit alpha. Peter is on the lead, however, because he's the oldest of the living Hales and the pack-dynamics had gotten pretty fucked up when the coup d'état happened.  
You know, all the power-play, death-threats and manipulation, the usual package what comes when you're involved with psychotic werewolves. Stiles is pretty sure Peter's psychotic because not anyone slaughters their enemies like him - slowly and usually with fire, in front of big audience. If that's not sociopathic and therefore psychotic trait, Stiles doesn't even want to know.  
Or okay, not only psychotic werewolves, Stiles has the feeling that the psychotic-part is quite same with humans and werewolves.

Not that he knows.

So now Laura's using her spare time -aka time when Peter's not watching her every move like obsessed bastard he is- to help the Grimms.

Honestly, the Grimms are the Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtles of Beacon Hills - save for the mutants and turtles because last time he checked, there was no mutants nor turtles in the ship. The figurative ship, they don't actually have a ship. Even though that would be, like, awesome? But nope, no mutants, no turtles, no ships - or that's what Stiles calls them. Much cooler than the stars of god-knows how old fairytales. Because nothing that has word 'fairy' can be manly. Or cool. (Conly?) Yeah, definitely not anywhere near conly.

Stiles's own alias is the Red Riding Hood - because of his trade-mark hoodie - and if that isn't a nickname to make you curl over in shame, there's something probably wrong with you.  
Unless you're 12, girl, wear lots of red and bake, which then, good for you! But the last time Stiles checked, he's not 12, he is a very manly guy, he wears red only every now and then and he doesn't bake.  
Not that there is anything unmanly in baking, it just isn't his thing.

But yeah, the ridiculous alias; when Coach decides something, that's it and there's no budging from that. And okay, maybe Red Riding Hood is better than to be called 'Bilinski'. Maybe Coach has this creepy sense for catching nicks because at least tabloids seem to like it, too, even thought they have altered it to 'Little Red' - It just gets worse, really.

Danny, his partner, is the Hunter - which is kind of ironic because Stiles is the one who usually handles the missions on the field. The alias fits him though; he's collected and strong and ripped and he has this security in his steps and just whenever you're around the guy you feel safe. So even if he is a little bit jealous for Danny's surprisingly conly nick or his muscles or his totally smooth way around the guys, he's not going to admit it. Because he's Stiles, and he's not jealous because jealousy is over-appreciated and it's not like he can change his genes so.

But yeah. TMNT. Totally. Without the sewers. No sewers either, thank you very much, they like the breeze of fresh air so they use the old buildings in the Slum. Which is way more hygienic than sewers could ever be. Stiles has spent more than his own fair share in the sewers.  
When you're running from werenoses there's very few things that can throw them off your tail, sewers, fortunately and unfortunately, being one of them.

So Stiles is almost best buddies with sewers.

They have had few candle-lit dates - when he was chased with torches -, blood-red moments of passion - few very nasty fights that took place underground - and he has even thought about moving in if their base gets busted.  
He practically holds a long-term relationship with sewer.  
And maybe they crack jokes about it in the base every now and then, but Stiles doesn't really find them funny anymore. It stops being funny when you have been standing knee-deep in shit few dozen times.

Literally knee-deep.

Only good things about it are that a) he's bloody good runner, b) he knows sewers like the back of his hand and c) he's fit. Well, fit in his skinny-gawky-way. Which is not attractive but it's not like he's getting laid anyway in the near future so he tries not to let it get to him too bad. Lydia's still hardly admitting the fact that he exists, Danny doesn't have any hots towards him - he knows, he has asked - and Greenberg's just... Ew. Greenberg's good guy, he really is, but it's just not going to happen. Which is kind of unfortunate because if we side them and Scott - Scott is just no-no, that's a line we won't cross because that's a road down self-disgust and nightmares -, they're the core of the cell and there's no getting attached to folks that are going to leave next week.

So yeah, no fun for Stiles.

And now he can't help but notice that his stupid skinny-boney-gawky ass has lost Laura from its sight and he curses under his breath.

"Oh for the love of—" he starts, but ruffle of clothes and sound of movement makes him whip around so quickly he thinks he might have sprained something.

Like his hip. Can you sprain your hip? He doesn't think it's possible, but there's definitely going on something sprainey-ish stuff on his hip, he should get it checked by Danny.  
And now he's imagining Danny's fingers on his skin and okay, um, no? So not the best situation for that.

"You better not be finishing that sentence or I'll have to bite your ass for it", Laura says with wide grin, all joke and warmth in her features. She looks as beautiful as always, black locks shining in the dim light of the yellow street-lamp and her blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

They don't usually have the time or safety to actually talk and Stiles can't help the goofy smile that creeps to his face, his bat dropping to the ground with loud 'clank', Danny long forgotten.  
"Long time not to see", he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck and trying to lean on the building next to him.  
He misses, and almost tumbles down, yelping and flailing around goofily.

Beware, he's the dread of the city.

Laura laughs, a voice that world can never have too much, and she opens her arms in inviting way.  
"C'mon pup, I know you want to. Gimme a hug", she says, the grin now almost predatory smirk. Stiles tries not to rush too obviously towards the woman, but by the way her gaze softens and the smirk changes to a smile, he knows that Laura can still tell. His arms close around her, and he squeezes her closer with a rough desperation he can't hide.  
He doesn't even want to count the months they have been unable to get proper chat, and he had truly missed her voice and her slightly flowerish scent.

And it's not like Stiles is showering in human-contact if it's not for him bleeding to death, so this is more than needed.

He closes his eyes for a moment, hearing the steady heartbeat and wondering how rapid his own is compared to it. Laura's quiet, her hands comforting around him and rubbing small circles on his back.

"What's up? Got extra-much time to hunt bunnies or…?" he asks, his voice a bit muffled and the werewolf sighs. He can feel and hear the process of air filling her lungs and then getting out, and it's nice. Intimate in a weird way that makes him feel vulnerable, but... Nice.

He wonders how long ago he had been this close to someone. Not in months.

"No 'you look great' or 'wow Laura, you're so beautiful you shine like thousand suns'? All work and no play, when did you grow up, Stilinski? I must have missed it, last time you were all rainbows and cotton candy", she complains, parting them so Stiles's an arm length away from her and she gets proper once-over. Her eyes are critical, and she huffs like she isn't pleased about what she sees.

Stiles can't really blame her, he doesn't like his mirror-image either. It's not like he's all angsty-teenage-boy over it but he's not an eye candy and he knows it.

"Take off your mask, I want to see you. I mean, more of you than just your cute big eyes. Gotta say, that Bambie-look makes me want to _eat you up_", she says with an askew smile, shaking the boy a little. Stiles cocks an eyebrow, that's a new one.  
"Bambie-impression? You know Bambie was shot by hunters and therefore I don't think that's a thing I want to be referred as to right now. Creates bad mojo. Not that I believe in bad mojo, but hey what do you know? You exist a-"  
"Stiles", she looks a little amused, and Stiles smiles sheepishly.

He has the tendency to start babbling whenever he opens his mouth and Laura is one of those persons that won't actually get irritated with him when that happens. He does as he's requested – well, told, but he likes to think it's a request -. Not because Laura's werewolf or because she's an alpha, heck no.

Laura had known his mother. And her hands had been one of the first things he had felt after that one… Incident, gripping him tight and forcing him against her warmth, soft voice telling him to breath.

Laura's more than just an ally; she's a friend.

The mask clings to his neck when he unties it and he gives Laura a smile while he tugs his hood down. The woman returns it with fondness, cupping his face with her palms.  
They're rough with work and all the were-business and there's certain kind of firmness in her hold that tell away the supernatural strength hidden in those delicate-looking bones. Her eyes inspect him with a look a big sister would give her little brother after being separated for long time, and Stiles feels warmth in his chest.

Until she actually opens her mouth.

"You still look like a thirteen-year-old", she giggles and Stiles lets out a pained groan, bringing his hands up to tug at her arms slightly. "Still on that?" he asks, looking up to the heavens pointedly. "Always", she chuckles, then getting suddenly serious. Her hold tightens, and her expression turns to disapproving.  
"You have lost weight. And you smell like rust, dirt and misery. Why's that? Has something happened?"

When he had joined the Grimms, Laura was the one to contact him first. She had seen his picture on the television and she had sniffed him out with her super-sniffer - she was only werewolf who actually knew his scent.  
She knew about his father, and she had guessed that Stiles had left willingly. She had guessed right, finding Stiles just after that one accident involving his watch and Danny and puke and they had few short conversations after Stiles stopped freaking out.  
They switched information, talked about Stiles's parents, and after that, kept seeing each other.

Stiles first wasn't sure what it was about her that pulled him again and again to meet her - she's a werewolf, _hello?_ That should scream 'DANGER' -, but then he realized he hadn't been afraid of Laura, ever. The first shock had been because he had thought she was far away from Beacon Hills, or dead, or captured - and she wasn't, and she came to Stiles, and she brought one precious piece of his childhood with her.

Laura wanted to support the Grimms, but because she is a werewolf, an _alpha_ - you can't italicize it enough - and especially because she is one of the Hales, the others didn't trust her.

Stiles did.

And the first year he spent in the Grimms, Laura trained him. She told him everything that was vital for his surviving, taught him personally about the ways to fight a werewolf and flee from a werewolf, how to use wolfs bane, how to make a trap that holds, how to act in the presence of an alpha or a beta - or even an omega.  
They even went on a few missions together before Peter got overly suspicious and Laura was put under constant surveillance.

Now he shrugs, averting his gaze. It takes few seconds under Laura's scrutiny before he breaks. He eases the woman's hold on him a little so that he can talk without looking like a fish, and shrugs his shoulders again.

"It's nothing. Everything's f-" Laura slaps his other cheek gently, but he still startles at the sting.

He should already be accustomed to the way werewolves are much more physical than humans, but somehow he often forgets that Laura, in fact,_is_ a werewolf so when she suddenly pushes him against a wall face-first when he has pissed her off or when she noses the side of his head briefly when he has made her proud, he's taken by surprise.

"Why did y-"

"Don't even try to feed me that 'everything's just peachy'-crap. Report", she snaps, her eyes flashing red to emphasize the order. She had been a bitch of a supervisor, always challenging and strict. It took her only few weeks before she got Stiles's motormouth under control, finding all the right ways to stay alluring enough for Stiles's undivided attention - he had a really short attention-span.  
Coach could learn a thing or two from her.

Stiles's voice drops monotony, his gaze sliding down, automatically avoiding her piercing stare.  
"Scott's mom was caught and Scott was forced to switch sides. Lydia has disappeared long time ago. We thought she had left with her parents, but when we confirmed it, they hadn't heard of her in long time. Dad's still drinking but he's otherwise healthy. We tried to talk a few Omegas into chauffeuring some people over their land, but they are reluctant to make a deal. Greenberg got told off by Coach again and he's down. Danny got clawed in the last encounter, when we attacked the food-delivery" which had been two days ago and Laura seems to remember that too because her hold tightens alongside with her mouth "but we finally managed to get his siblings safely to the border, so he's content. We discussed about him going too, before they were sent to his parents, but he decided to stay. Stupid-ass decision, but he wouldn't budge", he lists, and Laura mutters out quiet "He's an idiot" Stiles laughs dryly, more bitterly than a person his age should. "Aren't we all?"

It had been quite a long time when Laura had last time ordered him to report, reason why it now took him by cold surprise. When they were training together -or when Laura was training Stiles- they had had few troubles at the start. You see, Stiles is not naturally submissive. No, no, he's anything but that. He might get scared or injured or hurt, but when the person that's doing it to him doesn't hold any of his respect, Stiles holds his ground. He strikes back with his silvery tongue, using his brains when his muscles are vain.

And because they were still quite unfamiliar to each other, that happened with Laura too; he didn't fear her but he didn't trust her either.

So when he was barked orders at without any explanations, when Laura demanded something from him that he couldn't understand, he didn't just zip it and obey.  
No, he wanted to know _why_. He kept insisting, kept disobeying and Laura was surprisingly patient with him at first. It didn't work smoothly and when Stiles almost got them killed simply by ignoring Laura's commands, she was starting to have enough of it.

One time, Laura's patience snapped - in Laura's defense, it was a day before the full-moon - and she pinned the boy on the floor, all red eyes and command.  
And Stiles reacted just the opposite she had expected.  
He didn't bare his neck and go still, oh no; he held her gaze, giving Laura thin mouth and then saying 'don't even try to play this alpha-bullshit on me. Get off' and there was lots of snarling and shouldering and arguing before Danny came and interrupted them.

Laura then realized that Stiles didn't -couldn't, the boy hadn't had the luxury of trusting anyone after he was 12 and she couldn't really blame him for not to - just give in that easily and Stiles finally understood that this wouldn't carry a fruit if he couldn't trust Laura with his life. They started to work on that.

It took time, lots and lots of bonding and arguing and mutual hardwork before Stiles could finally still his quick tongue and stop the burning words on his mouth and do as he was told. He surrendered to his alpha, finally able to bare his neck without shame or the impulse to disobey. And they worked well together. Stiles finally had someone who cared and took care of him and Laura got the emptiness inside her dulled, giving her affections to someone who accepted them.

And Laura had never, ever used Stiles' compliance against him outside a battlefield or training exercise and she honestly didn't wait Stiles to do as she told outside a death-or-life-situation.

They stay silent for a moment, Stiles fidgeting on his place. For Laura, it's unnerving. He won't meet her gaze and he doesn't continue, doesn't start babbling about something completely unrelated. It's almost unnatural. The boy is sometimes even stupidly stubborn, especially when it's about him. So she speaks up again, determined to find out what's wrong. They're not exactly pack anymore, but she has her instincts, human and wolf, to protect the boy.

"How 'bout you?" she asks, easing the question out gently like it could spook the kid. And Stiles goes still for a moment, his brown eyes moving back to Laura's blue ones.  
He searches something in them, before shrugging his other shoulder. It's not an order anymore, and that makes him feel more in ease. It's slipping back to be a conversation between Stiles and Laura, not Stiles and the big bad alpha-bitch.

"No rest for the wicked. But I'm managing" he says off-handedly, and Laura frowns, her eyes getting redder.  
Stiles notices it and he smiles, a smile that is supposed to look reassuring but comes out tight and tired. Losing your bestie and long-time crush does that to you, especially when you have to worry about your friend's life at the same time. Laura feels bad for the boy, she really does. The war's ripping children out of their childhoods way too early.

"No, really. But how's things in the werelandia? Are you doing well?" the teen asks, and Laura levels him with the gaze, the one that says that she can't believe Stiles actually thinks she's going to swallow that bullshit but because she loves him she's going to play along and drop the subject.

Stiles gets that look from her really often.

"There's something going on. I haven't had the possibility to figure out what it something is, but Derek told me it's about the prisoners. He couldn't give me all the details because Peter has ordered him not to, but if I know Peter at all…" she lets out a sigh, gesturing vaguely with her hands after letting them drop down and hang on her sides. Stiles tucks his hands in his pockets, letting out agreeing hum.

There's no misunderstandings about what it could possibly mean.

"Alright-y thennnn… So psycho-grandpa is still on the roll and Derek's on his leash. Metaphorical leash, real one would be…" he makes a face "Talking about Derek, how is he?" he asks, interested, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet.

He hasn't met the guy since he was, what, seven?  
He had been quite nice, even if a little bit quiet and shy. Stiles had always been really interested in him.  
He even thought he had small crush on the guy but that thought had been brushed off as ridiculous. Boys couldn't like boys, not in his seven-year-old's world. He had pestered the living hell out of the elder boy and he had had the feeling that the guys wasn't just as annoyed with him as he let out with. At least he answered to all of his questions - one-syllable words like 'yes' and 'no' were Derek's favorites - when he had tried to have a conversation.  
He was like a mystery and if Stiles had loved something, it'd been mysteries.

Laura smiles sadly, looking away.  
"He's lost, poor boy. He doesn't know who to be loyal to and whose side to take. It's a decision I don't like to force him to take, but soon there's no other options", she admits, and Stiles stills, his eyes narrowing. They had grown to know each other well, and he knows when Laura is skidding around something. "Why?" the question makes Laura turn her stare back to him, her expression weird. "Hm?" "What's going to happen?" the look of determined insistence is on his face. She ponders it, looking at the teenager thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if I should tell you." she says slowly, and Stiles purses his lips.

Oh, no, she _didn't_.

Laura knows him well enough to know that he can't let it be, not now when it has already sparked his attention. When something has his attention, it really _has his attention_.

"You know I won't let this drop before you do", he points out and Laura laughs, nodding. She had expected this, Stiles had been an open book for her when the kid was younger and she knew him to the very core. "Oh, I'm sure of that. Stiles..." she pries his hands out of the pockets, holding them carefully. She had gotten serious again, that funny expression back on her face. "If I tell you this, you must promise me: You must listen carefully", she says then reluctantly, and Stiles nods.  
"Sure thing, I guess? I don't even need the weresenses to sniff out that something big is going on. Lay it on me, Laur, I'm big boy" the nervousness is creeping on his mind, the boy's having the worst feeling about this.

Even despite his words, he suddenly hopes he hadn't asked; something in Laura's expression freaks him out.

Laura smiles, that sad smile that no one wants to be directed towards them, and nods.  
She can feel how uneasy Stiles is feeling, but she needs to tell someone. She has to do this alone, but it doesn't mean she wants to. Or that she's not scared. And she needs someone to take care of the aftermath if she fails, needs someone to clean up after her.

That someone being Stiles.

#

"I have told you about pack, how it's formed and how it's nurtured. Do you remember what I taught you?" and Stiles gives him a jerky nod, his feelings making an U-turn and changing to confused.

How could he forget something like that? He's pretty much the werewolf-specialist number one in the Grimms.

He can't help but speak up. "Of course I do, but what-" "I told you to listen. Are you listening?" another jerky nod "Good. So, you know that alpha has to protect her pack, no matter what it takes" now more deliberate nod "And I… I haven't been doing that", she goes silent, drawing circles with her thumbs on the soft skin.

And Stiles waits.  
"I have been afraid. After the fire... I... Derek was broken. You can't even imagine. He..." she seems to have trouble with words, and she takes a deep breath, her gaze dropping.

This is the only creek he doesn't know about her, the only thing they haven't talked about and Stiles looks away.

"We left. This town was full of memories, and I didn't think we could cope with that. We believed that our whole pack had burned with the house, we believed we were the only ones left. My rank had suddenly changed from beta to alpha and I had to take care of my baby brother, who blamed himself for everything." she swallows visibly, and Stiles feels a little bit sick.

He had seen pictures of that fire, the flames eating out everything. And to think that Derek could possibly blame himself..? That is just...

_Wrong_.

"Politics were the other reason we left. Things were getting unstable, and we had no reason to stay", she shrugs, then continuing. "But nothing's ever that easy. I counted on the hope that only this side of America gets corrupted by the extremist groups, but I was so wrong. I didn't think, Stiles. I didn't _plan_. And before I noticed, we were in the middle of Wolf's Bane-activists. I think that's when Derek started to hate humans. His family had just been slaughtered and..." she can't finish the sentence, biting her lip. Stiles can only imagine how a pair of young werewolves were treated on the start of this ruckus. The silence goes on long, but Stiles can't make himself break it. He's feeling positively nauseated, and doesn't want to hear the rest.  
He's afraid what's still coming. "We ran and ran. And after we finally found a safe place to stay, I started to follow the news from Beacon Hills and… It was Peter. He had been plotting to get his foot in on the politics when the fire happened. When he finally healed, he did as he had planned and being one of the Hales... He was celebrated as a tragic hero, welcomed back" her tone is disgusted and hurt and Stiles is burning to ask why she is telling him all this, and at the same time kind of wants to throw up.  
But he keeps uncharacteristically quiet, listening.

"He started to send me letters. I answered to them, how could I... I had no idea... He was our relative, he was family and… And after he got the confirmation we're both alive, he started to pester me with invitations. The town didn't attract me in the slightest and I turned him down many times before Derek, restless, insisted me to go and meet him. So I did. I didn't give in when he kept asking to come with me, I didn't trust anyone at that point - I didn't trust him to keep it under control. I thought Derek was safer in our little den than he would be in Beacon Hills - and that's the only thing I got right, even thought it doesn't even matter in the end", her tone is slightly bitter "He got me. He wanted to collect what was left of his pack to make himself stronger and when I arrived without Derek… He locked me up. It was easiest way to get Derek here, of course Derek would come to find me", she sounds so sad that Stiles wants to rub his cheek against her - a thing that Laura does when he's upset, it's apparently some wolf-thing -.

"Peter used his anger and his hurt to manipulate him, and when he finally freed me..." her thumbs dig a bit too deep, and Stiles startles a little the sudden pain.  
"He didn't let me in anymore. And Peter enjoyed it, knowing that he had tighter grip on my brother than I did." she scowls. "And I was afraid of death, God how afraid I was…" she sighs, not saying out loud the amount of indirect death-threats she had gotten from their uncle but it's quite obvious.

"I did nothing. Nothing to save me or Derek and that's where I went wrong again, Stiles. I didn't do all I could. I was weak alpha, not worth my title but how could I foresee my mistakes? I had just grown up and without the pack or elderly to guide me. I was lost. I didn't take my chance and once it passed I didn't even think about grabbing it"

Stiles doesn't understand, doesn't see the point and his mind is swirling around the new information, tasting it, prodding it.

"I could have stopped this all, Stiles, the first day I arrived. I could have ended this all, could have ended him. I could have, but I didn't" and it hits him, Stiles finally getting his voice to work, ice-cold realization making it hoarse and his pulse picking up. "You're going to… Laura, please tell me you're not, tell me I got this all wrong", he pleads, and Laura just sighs. Oh how she hates herself for doing this to Stiles, but she doesn't have any options. This is her check-mate; she has to do the move before Peter does or that's the end of the game. "Pup, it's all I can do. It's-" "You can't. Laura, please" he doesn't care how pitiful he sounds. This plan is crazy, there's no way it'll work and he can't bear to lose her. "Stiles, things are getting worse. For now, it has been mild. Mutiny, hate-crimes, it's the Cold War all over again. But soon, it'll explode: someone does something wrong and when Gerard or Peter gets an excuse to attack, it'll be hell. This is only reasonable thing to d-" "No" "It's the full moon next night, he's probably distrac-" "Or blinded with rage and want to kill everything that moves, Laura! No!" "It's the only op-" "Laura, no! What did we say about the party? I get it, you're party-animal, but you can't-" he's gripping Laura's hands tightly, his tone getting more and more commanding as his desperation builds.  
Laura straightens herself, authority radiating off her. She won't take orders from a cub, that's where she and her wolf admit on.

"Quiet"

It's a single word, but Stiles's mouth snaps shut. He's obeying out of reflex and Laura is taken aback by that; she thought she could get few words between when Stiles would stammer but this? Her brows furrow in a frown, her own hands tightening around Stiles's.  
"What have they done to you? They have trained obedient bloodhound out of you." she looks disturbed by the very thought, and Stiles huffs, shuffling his feet. "It's not... They haven't 'trained' me to do anything. I just… It's easier this way. Not picking up the commands I obey, just doing it", he mumbles. Laura growls low, before stopping herself abruptly. It's an ill thing, her pack-member taking orders from someone else but it's a must and she knows it.  
And she knows Stiles is right.

Her grip loosens, before dropping Stiles's hands wholly. Stiles looks unsure, thrown a little by the werewolf's reaction. "Here's the address. I'll give you a key to one of the lockers. Inside is a bag and the bag holds the copies of the blueprints, codes, passwords... Any information I could gather. You're my back-up plan, kid" she slips the piece of paper and the key inside his pocket, holding his gaze with her own. "If something goes wrong, you have the brains. Contact Derek, tell him what I told you. Convince him that this is the right side, okay? I'm sure you can do that", she sounds so sure that Stiles leaps forward, sealing her in a tight hug, his throat's tight and his eyes are burning, but at least he's not crying.

He's shaking, though, and Laura must feel it because she takes him in her embrace, her hand slipping to brush over his buzz-cut.

"So there's no talking you out of this?" he asks raspy, hiding his face on her shoulder. "You're my pack, pup. You, Derek and papa Stilinski", she says with fondness, and Stiles laughs; it's a strangled noise, and Laura feels bang of pain in her chest. "This is _not_ a way to treat your pack! Laura, please, I need you" and Stiles knows it's true, knows that he can't afford losing Laura without the nightmares and panic-attacks coming back again. "Stiles..." her voice is so soft, so calming, same tone she had used all those years ago, and Stiles almost loses it right there. He hates it, he doesn't want to bid any more farewells and he hates Laura for forcing his hand. "Your mother would be proud of you", she points out quietly. Stiles jerks like he has been hit, shocked by this sudden change but Laura won't let him go. She can hear how his heart beats fast, like a rabbit, and Laura can see tears in his eyes.

"For helping people, saving lives. Your mother was strong woman, Stilinski. And I'm happy to see that her good heart has passed to you. You've got great strength there, pup" she says softly, and she can feel how confused and torn the boy is. "You have to be careful with that. Mistakes are humane but they still do damage, especially to our loved ones." her voice drifts away and the teen coughs a little, blinking his eyes rapidly.

"You know I invented this technique. It's not gonna work on me." he says then, his voice a little bit choked.  
He can almost hear how Laura smiles, and he kind of wants to punch her for that.

"I know" she admits softly: she hadn't even thought of it working on the boy and Stiles feels his chest tighten.  
He can't handle thinking about his mother and Laura's kamikaze-attack at the same time and it's unfair for Laura to use it like that. To say things like that. He sobs brokenly, the noise unwilling and muffled.

Laura shushes him quietly, convincing herself over and over again that she's doing the right thing and Stiles just clings on her, swallowing the feeling of numbness creeping up on him.

He's not going to cry, not now, not when Laura's holding him like he's something precious. He can't stop the another sob, cursing his body for betraying him, and they stand there god-knows how long. He's not nearly finished with the hug and collecting himself before Laura forces him away with gentle hands.

"What-" he's struggling against it but no teenager can match his strength with a full-grown werewolf and win.

"Stiles, they're coming", she whispers, nothing care-free on her anymore, and for a single moment Stiles can see how tired and worn and scared she is.

She looks haunted.

That's the only reason why he doesn't object, why he lets the woman push him away. He sways on his feet, unsure about what to do and Laura cracks a smile. "You have to run. Do what you have to do to ditch them, I can't promise they won't start chasing you even if they're here for me", she whispers quickly, and Stiles is just about to object when she kisses his forehead, her thumbs sliding lightly on his cheeks to wipe off the tears. "I'll be okay. Run!" the last word is hissed out, and Stiles fastens his mask on, pulling his hood up. He takes only few steps away before he turns again, too anxious to just leave.

"Laura…" he has so much to say, but his throat won't work. He wants to reach out, wants to force Laura to stay, wants to tell her how much she means to him, how much he loves her. Laura seems to understand, and she nods, a slight moisture rising to her eyes. "It's okay. Everything will be alright. I love you, pup, and I'm sure you can do this. Now go" she says, turning her back to him. It's so clearly a dismissive gesture that he backs up, trying to contain his shaking to no avail. He picks up his bat before stealing last glance of the woman.


	3. Run Baby Run

She doesn't look after Stiles and she doesn't need to - she can hear the uneven breaths moving further away, the torturous smell of sadness subsiding and as it does, it's easier to breath.  
Laura has never been the one to enjoy hurting her loved ones (But then again, who _is_?) and when you can literally smell someone's pain it's even worse.

Losing everything makes you painfully aware of how fragile life really is and makes you value everything you have in wholly different light.  
Or that's what it did for her.

The rapid footsteps stop suddenly and, for a moment, Laura's worried.  
Did they get him? Did something happen? But then she visibly shakes herself, casting her worries away - for now.  
It's not in her hands anymore, she can do nothing. She can just hope that her trust in the boy is reasonable, that the boy manages it.

The quicker he is, the safer it is for both of them.

Laura knows it's too late to try to get rid of his smell at this point; it's stuck on her clothes and her hair. She doesn't mind, it makes her smell like Derek and Stiles, it makes her smell like _pack_.  
But carrying human's scent in these days is dangerous.  
Not only because of Peter but because it makes you weaker on the other wolves' eyes. And the weaker you look, the more likely you are to be challenged and the more you have to fight to keep your position in the 'pack'.

Surprisingly, many families have one or two werewolves, parents whose gene didn't pass to their children or children who were born with the gene even if their parents don't carry it; the higher you are in the precedence, the safer your non-werewolf family is.

She sighs, closing her eyes.

It's partly because she's trying to keep her emotions in check, to clear her head so she won't do anything stupid but partly because it makes it easier to track, to _feel_ her surroundings.  
It's not that she's feeling nervous or that she's afraid for herself. Peter may be insane but he has to have legit reason to slay her - and for that he needs waterproof evidence.

Pack-dynamics are unstable nowadays but there are rules that even Peter can't break, not without sending off chaos.

Laura rolls her head on her shoulders, cracking her neck.

They're taking their time.

She has already recognized the scents and her mouth curls into a smile; this is a situation she knows how to deal with.  
It's her brother's pack, the three youngsters that were turned just few moons ago.  
They're just puppies, completely harmless to her.

What awakes her interest is the fact that her brother isn't with them.

She has few long minutes time to come up with multiple explanations and none of them are good.  
Derek might be with Peter (sadly normal, but never good), he might be hurt (and that would probably be because of Grimms and Laura can't even begin to tell how guilty that makes her feel), he might be coming from other direction (troubling because of Stiles) or he might be parted from his pack, he might be busy...  
The trail of thought isn't too cheering and she frowns.

"Laura"

She doesn't jump at the quiet call behind her, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth upwards again.

Perfect distraction. Derek has taught them well and if she was a pup too.. She would have been taken by surprise.

Now it was a vain try.

#

Stiles' lungs burn.

He has been running for.. How long now?  
He can't even tell.  
It doesn't feel like a long time enough to make his breathing this hard but maybe the fact that he's slightly hyperventilating has something to do with it.

He stops when he stumbles down, taking a moment to grasp himself.

He has to calm down.

He has to calm down and _think_ about how to do this, what Laura has taught him.

And he does.

He has always been good at ignoring a problem until it eventually goes away.  
And when that doesn't work, he stifles them.

Now he uses all his might to smother all the thoughts and concentrate on the matter at hand: escaping.

#

She turns around slowly, her eyes slipping open as she takes in the scenery.  
She had been right; they're standing close to each other few meters away from her, the black male shielding the other two with his body. The youngest one is tense as a bowstring and the girl standing next to him is holding his hand.

Her body-language is wholly relaxed, but Laura can see the tautness of the muscles under the skin, the slightly over-sloppy edge on her smile.

"Erica, Isaac, Boyd, pleased to meet you again. Where's Derek?" she nods politely to them, her tone conversational.  
She tilts her head a little, and the brown-haired boy (Isaac? She thinks he's Isaac. The bigger male's Boyd) nods his greeting.

The other two stay still.

They have met only few times, first when they went through the transformation and after that when she has had to speak with Derek or give him missions.

They're smart but they have their faults - faults that Laura's not sure Derek can handle.

His brother's leader-skills are..  
There's perspiring to do there.

"You stink like a human", the girl, Erica, says after small silence and Laura nods thoughtfully, ignoring the judgmental tone in the girl's voice. She scowls inside but doesn't let it show outside.

That is none of Erica's business.

"Yes, I think we can all agree to that. But that doesn't answer my question. Where. Is. My brother?" she flashes the alpha-eyes, testing their effect on the trio.  
She's pleased with the results: Isaac jerks back ever-so-slightly, Erica's stand wavers and Boyd inches a little bit closer to Erica.

"He didn't tell us. He just said that he makes sure of something, and he'll follow us", the black one, Boyd, answers then, and Laura sighs.

Typical.

"Thank you" and Erica scoffs.

"It's not like you asked us nicely"

Laura glances at her, cocking an eyebrow. Is she just as difficult with Derek?

"I think Derek has to work a little bit more with your manners", she notes then, her tone neutral. "Now, tell me, what shall we do now? Will we wait, or-" she can't finish her sentence when Isaac shrugs his other shoulder, answering already.  
"He told us to wait"

Yeah, she was going to remind his brother about teaching his pups some _respect_.

"I see. I _would_ point out that actually I'm the highest on the rank of the four of you and therefore his orders won't bind me, but I guess that wouldn't make any difference?" and by their uncertain silence she can tell that she's right.  
She smiles sweetly, unable to hide the warmness that wakes in her.

They lack respect, but they have their loyalties right.

"Yes, I thought so too. And if I tried to leave, you would stop me with force?" and Erica huffs quietly, throwing her hair over her shoulder in a motion that leaves no room for imagination.  
"Or at least you would _try_ to stop me with force, but if Derek has told you anything, you should know that that wouldn't go so well. For you" she continues, showing too many teeth in a grin that's not supposed to be as nice as menacing anymore, gently reminding the pack of their place.

The girl's eyes squint a little. She opens her mouth, ready to disagree when Boyd cuts in, his big hand touching soothingly Erica's arm.  
"Peter was.. Worried on your behalf" he says with his low rumble of a voice and Laura laughs softly. "Yes, I'm sure he was", she mutters and Erica gives her scrutinizing look. "-and he hoped you would go back to the mansion" Boyd finishes unfazed by the interruption.

Isaac speaks up, his voice quiet.  
"Derek instructed us to get you accompany us willingly, so we have no intentions on... Forcing you to do anything", he says, and Laura shakes her head slightly.

She's happy that Derek knows her this well even after so many years, but this is just bullshit.

"I'm taken by your concern, but I think I'll pass"

Erica scowls, taking a step forward. "I hope you do realize that we have orders from Derek but we have orders from Peter too. And no matter how much we dislike it", Isaac throws Erica warning look, shifting his position nervously "Peter's orders come first" and not even the obviously expensive perfume can suppress the stench of fear radiating from her body.  
"You if someone should know how he gets when his orders aren't complied" and Laura looks at her sharply.

"I'm sorry but I can't do that"

"Then we'll just keep you here until Derek comes. We can't force you do anything but he can"

Laura purses her lips thoughtfully, humming low on her throat. "Is that so?" and now it's Isaac who answers:  
"Yes"

They're all strained, the atmosphere charged.

"Now, now, don't be so tense. I'm not going to hurt any of you, Derek would rip my head off for that. We're all on the same side" and Isaac smiles. It's a cute thing, really.  
"So you better run off and tell Peter that I disobeyed" Laura says, waving her hand vaguely.  
The smile drops, Erica goes all tense again and now even Boyd is starting to show signs of insecurity.

"Did you not just hear what I said? You better come with us or wait here" Erica all but hisses, the smell getting stronger.

"I'm afraid you have to force me then"

"We can't do that. Derek will.." Boyd starts, but Laura's not looking at them anymore.

She's looking behind him, holding her hand up to silence the young man. She is sure she heard gunshot, and her insides are twisting uncomfortably.

If Derek's anywhere near, he has to have heard that too and it's now or never to distract him from Stiles.

And then she's off, running right past the trio. She can see the shock on their face before they're on her tail.

They're all wolfed up where Laura is still calm and collected, her features remaining completely human and the woman chuckles.  
It would be even nicer if she could transform to her wolf-form...

But now's not the time for games.

They can barely keep up on her, the black one starting to slow down where the blond is still speeding up.

Isaac though, Isaac has disappeared. Laura wonders about that for moment before she has to look forward again, hopping over some garbage cans before making sharp turn to a dark alley.  
She's taken by surprise when something hard and heavy hits her side with force and she topples over. They roll few times in the ground before they still, Isaac panting and sweaty above the woman, holding her hands down.

Laura smiles, cocking her head as she holds boy's gaze steady on her own, hiding her surprise well.  
"Is this the part where I submit?"

Even the thought makes Isaac jerk and let go of her like her skin is burning.  
"I- I didn't mean, I'm sorry-" he starts before he's cut off.  
"Don't be"  
Isaac's off her the second he hears the familiar voice, the new wolf's scent reaching them in the wind. He stumbles back to his feet, no trace of werewolf-grace anywhere near to see, and Laura has never been more amused by puppy's behavior.

Erica slides to a stop behind him, Boyd following just after the female.

"Speaking of the devil. Hi Derek" she pipes up, rising her hand in a wave in a manner that indicates that this is perfectly normal.  
That she's being hunt down by her brother every day.

The three betas snap around, and Derek walks past them with stiff steps.

"Get up"

Laura props up to her elbows, grinning. "You're bossy tonight" she says and doesn't fight back when her brother yanks her up by her shoulders.  
He's a little bit rougher than would be necessary and she's not afraid to point it out. She gets a cold glare before Derek glances Isaac.

"You okay?" he asks and the brown-haired boy nods.

Derek's blue-green eyes full with rage move back to his sister, none of the calmness from before there. He pokes her chest angrily, the words spoken as a growl.

"_Explain_"

Derek has never been as good with all this 'pretend-to-be-calm'-stuff as Laura but she can't really blame him.  
Everybody's better at that than Derek.

"Explain what, baby bro?"

"You were with a human. _Again_", the man growls and she doesn't find any reason trying to deny it.  
It's not like all the proofs are speaking against her. So Laura nods as she shrugs lazily.

"Yeah"

The blunt confession seems to take him off-guard and his face drops for a second before the rage is back. "_Yeah_? What the _hell_ are you _playing at_?" he asks, poking the woman as he talks and Laura purses her lips.  
There comes the italics.

They're never fun.

"I'm not 'playing at' anything"

"Don't you- I-" Derek squeezes the bridge of his nose, breathing deep. He has to calm down, even thought he kind of wants to shake his sister.

"You _know_ I have watched this.. This _disobedience_ through my fingers before, but now Peter gave me direct orders to catch him", he snarls through stiff jaws, and Laura cocks an eyebrow.

"He did? I can't say I'm surprised. So he knows. How long?" she asks, and Derek lets out warning growl.  
"You know I can't tell you!" he barks. His pack's shifting anxiously behind his uniform-glad back, and he tries to calm down - again.

Can't do with three unstable puppies to lose his nerves, not this close to the full moon.

"Laura, do you have _any_ idea.. You're putting me in complicated situation. You know I don't want to capture your friends, but you leave me no other options", he says then, his voice finally leveled and Laura shrugs her shoulders.

It's quite impressive how talkative Derek gets when he's pissed off.

"I'm sorry. But you know me, it's not like I can just sit on my ass every day and let it be" she says apologetically, but Derek seems to get even angrier, his shoulders tensing even further.

He should probably get some masseur to check those muscles, that can't be comfortable...

"_You should_"  
"I _would_ if I _could_ but I _can't_ so I _shan't_" and Derek glares at her with this 'I sometimes can't believe you speak words'-look and she grins.  
Derek sighs, obviously giving up, his shoulders slumping.

You can't reason with crazy people. Or Laura.  
He's not even sure which category to put his impossible big sister.

He turns to face his pack, his eyes flashing blue.

"Boyd, make sure Laura gets back to the mansion. Get her new clothes and let her shower before she meets my uncle. Erica, Isaac, you come with me", he orders then, and his pups nod obediently.  
Boyd moves surprisingly suavely for a guy his size on Laura's side.  
He seems to be unsure where to stand, unable to decide how close he's allowed to be.

Laura lets the pup fret, because even thought she manages to keep her poker-face on, she's nervous.

Laura can just wish Stiles is smart enough. That he didn't go straight to their base, and used few detours and sewers and whatnot.  
Youngsters like Isaac and Erica are easy to ditch, but now that Derek's accompanying them..

Derek looks at her with a funny look, obviously more sensitive to her vibes than his pack around them.  
His eyes soften, the anger fading until there's just remorse there.

This is how it always goes; Derek taking orders from Peter, doing something that upsets Laura and feeling guilty about it. And because she's the big sister, the alpha, Laura smiles reassuringly, patting his back.  
"I understand", she says quietly, then pinching his side, making the man jump.

"But if you manage to find him and any of you hurt him.. I'm going to kick your ass" she says, louder this time, and gives grim look to the other werewolves.  
Erica's perfectly painted red lips twist to a crooked smile and she cocks her hip to the side, shrugging and Isaac seems to shrink under her eyes.

It does nothing to better her confidence and she fights a sigh.

They truly are a troubling lot.

Derek shakes his head a little, sighing. His hand finds its way to his sister's shoulder, squeezing it gently.  
He doesn't know if it's reassuring or dominating gesture, but by the shit-eating grin Laura shoots him, he thinks it's reassuring.

He takes back on his trade-mark scowl, returning to a serious glower.

"Don't try anything"


	4. Let's Play the Game of Tag

He feels kind of proud that he had taken up parkour all those years ago, hopping from building to building and sliding down the piping.  
Especially now that he can actually use that ability for something; it makes running for your life hell a lot easier.  
When they used to do field together, when Stiles was younger and inexperienced and needed constant supervision, Danny always compared him to a squirrel.

A squirrel that's high on crack, but a squirrel nonetheless.

It's never an easy task to keep up with him when he really gets going and the only one so far who can, is Allison Argent.  
And Allison is one of the people they never mention.

Ever.

The burning sensations of humiliation and betrayal are still sharp after these years but now they're accompanied by justified anger.  
Only half of it is towards Allison and the other half towards himself. He can't believe how foolish he was.  
Scott he understands - his friend was gone the very moment they met, the sweet smile making him fall head over heels. But himself?  
He should have known.

He's sliding down one of the pipes when he hears the muted gunshot and he's startled back to the present from his bitter thoughts. He drops to all fours in a smooth motion from the jump, doing a side-somersault behind the first thing he sees on his side: garbage-cans.

Stiles hears how the bullets graze the air as they sink in the bricks like they're made of soft butter and he winces.

That could have been him if not for the quick reflexes Couch tortured him into. The fire is stops and he curses under his breath, curling up to hide better in the shadows.  
He can hear the soldier's heavy boots shuffling against the concrete.  
He glances around the cold metallic surface, squinting his eyes in the crappy light. It's inconvenient how quick the sun has settled; when they had been talking with Laura, the sun was just setting but now only few peaks of light could be seen on the horizon.

He hadn't noticed the MP, not before it was too late.

He sits back, starting to go through his pockets - which he has more than just a few. He curses internally his decision to leave his back bag to the base.  
He had assumed it would be easy share-and-be-gone but as always, situations like to bite his ass and he ends up hunted by a pack of werewolves.

Not that it's something new or anything but proper equipment for that would be nice.

He picks the radiotelephone from his pocket. It's small and worn with few small buttons, the thin plastic familiar in his hand and it takes him seconds to find the right channel.  
He can hear the steps drawing closer and his fingers slip on the casing.  
"Hunter, code 11, S-r-av 10", he mutters under his breath when he finally gets the answer - long beep - from the other end of the connection.  
They have multiple forms of communication nowadays; the radio may be the riskiest of them and they use them only temporarily when they need instant response.  
That's why they had invented a code-talk that only the ones on field know.

He moves a little, the shift of clothes making the soldier stop on his tracks and Stiles holds his breath for a moment.  
And then the man is coming closer, his gaze drifting over the place Stiles is hunched behind.  
Stiles keeps praying every God he remembers the name of when suddenly the silence is broken with alarms going off on store behind the police.

Stiles moves, shuffling quickly to his feet. He makes a run to his bat when he hears the click of a gun and then the fire is open.  
He ducks to the side automatically but when you're running and there's a brick-wall next to you, it's hard to avert the bullets aimed at you.  
The bullets whip around him, one grazing his side - it's just a scratch, really - but it's enough to make him stumble on his own feet.

'Ohfuckthathurts' is his only thought before it hurts even more and he's down, falling with a noisy 'thunk' and metallic crack when he lands face first. He bounces off hard from the ground, ugly voice of bones hitting the concrete loud in the air.  
His side, face and shoulder are aching, side and shoulder from bullet-wounds. He curses to himself again, tasting the blood from his cut lip inside his mouth and doesn't stop to think. He's on his feet in seconds, the burn through his veins making him a little dizzy, pain shooting lava-hot from his injuries, but he doesn't care.

His fist curls around the handle of his bat and Stiles is on the move, his sneakers hitting the concrete almost soundlessly. The soldier is feverishly trying to reload his gun now that it's obvious that Stiles isn't down yet. The teenager doesn't wait, thanks the Gods and swings.  
He hits the gun with the bat, using his whole body to get enough strength to the blow. The shape of the handle is clumsy in his hands, the bat heavy and uncoordinated and unbalanced in his hand but what he misses in the force, he makes up in the blow.  
He's intentionally making sure the man's fingers break on the process, the crunch disturbing and satisfying at the same time. He knows he shouldn't get a stab of pleasure by the strangled scream he awakes with that but he can't find it in himself to care at the moment while he grins behind the mask. There you go.

Karma's a bitch, isn't it?

The gun goes flying and before the soldier has time to do anything, he hits the man on the head. The helmet is on the way and there's a sound of breaking plastic on the air before he hits again, harder this time.  
Not hard enough to take a life but hard enough to make him black out.  
The soldier falls limp on the ground and Stiles drops on his knees, gasping for air. His whole body is trembling and if he didn't have surprisingly high pain threshold and the adrenaline wouldn't be drumming through his system, he would probably be crying. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to take few deep breaths before he opens them again.

He looks down at the man, licking his lips thoughtfully and before he gets any second thoughts, he reaches out, his blood-slippery fingers finding their way inside the jacket. It takes a few seconds before he finds what he is searching for and he smiles to himself.  
And then he's running again. He has to make new plans now, blood dripping along his skin and soaking the material of his shirt. And the delay is unfortunate. Sure, it took about five minutes max, but sometimes those minutes can set out whether you live or die. Something that Stiles knows from experience.  
He just has to hope Laura is keeping them behind, buying him time. He isn't stupid enough to go to the base now; he's not foolish enough to lead a bunch of werewolves to others. Stupidity can cost lives and Stiles in on the field because he's got the street-smarts for it. So he throws the blood-stained bat away after wiping it clean - it's slowing him down -, drops back on his knees and opens the slab to the sewers.

He knows what to do.

He climbs inside, hopping to the narrow basement lining the sides. It's wet and sticky under the soles of his sneakers and he waists no time before starting to jog along it.  
His movements are slightly stiffer than before, the pain radiating through his body with every step. But he ignores it, pressing a hand over the wound on his shoulder.  
He ran.. here today. He's sure his scent is still all around the place.  
If the werewolves are young, they can't tell the difference between old traces and new traces; if he's lucky that'll be enough to confuse them. Not that he's ever lucky, of course; his _best friend_ is a werewolf.

The darkness makes his mission slightly harder for he has to keep the layouts of the sewers fresh in his mind, navigate blind. He rubs his blood every now and then on the walls until his breath is coming in short huffs and puffs and he knows he's nearing the side of the city. He knows where he is and he knows where he'll have to be.  
There's no need to rush anymore so he slows down to walking.  
If this isn't enough, it isn't but he'll bleed to death if he doesn't get some treatment – the quicker the better.

It takes him a while before he gets back to the surface, the light breeze of fresh air making him sigh in relief.  
No, he really needs to stop with sewers. This relationship is nowhere near a healthy one, it's draining - heh - him and it takes way too much his energy.

He takes off the first layer of clothing for a moment before stripping off his under-shirt; there's no way he'll sacrifice his hoodie. The material is thin enough that he can rip it to peaces using his uninjured hand and teeth, the tearing sound too loud in the darkness. After the whole shirt is even shreds, he starts to pick up small rocks, wrapping them to them, and dropping them down every sewer-grate he finds as he heads to his destination.  
His own little safe-house he uses when getting back to base isn't an option.

He starts to jog along the streets, looking around at the buildings. They're old and worn and when he looks at the windows, the curtains are yanked shut. No one wants to be linked with a ghost.  
If violating the rules isn't a sure way to attract ill interest, associating with ghosts is.  
Which is the main reason why people are so afraid of accepting their help. It's sad, in his opinion, the fact that people are so scared of Peter that they won't even think twice about leaving.  
The other reason is that for some reason, people actually believe Peter's propaganda.

He's getting closer and closer the forests and he starts to regret not bringing his bat with him.  
Getting an Omega on him right now, when he's short on equipment and injured, would be unfortunate. Unfortunate in a way that probably includes his organs used as a were-jewellery and his skin as a were-carpet and if they'll feel organic enough, his bones used as a were-cutlery.

Wouldn't that be just _charming_?

He slows down to a walk, his eyes skimming the surroundings. He can't help the nervousness creeping on him. He smells like a delicious steak and, like Laura said, the full-moon will be in no-time. He can't even see properly - only thing even years of training can't really better.  
This is not a type of situation he finds amusing to be in and he sighs, rubbing his bloody hand over his buzz-cut under the hood and grimacing. Now his head is sticky and just in general covered with blood. Perfect.  
He drops his hand, pressing it back to the injury.  
He has to walk quite long, until his muscles are aching and his arms are getting tired before he can stop. He's finally in front of the big building and he smiles.  
Now starts the hard part.

#

Derek growls low on his throat when his eyes meet the man sprawled on the ground, smell of blood hitting him. He had heard gunshots before and the smell of gunpowder is still evident on the air.  
"Isaac, check him", he says, jerking his chin towards the soldier.  
Isaac does as he's told, removing the broken helmet before feeling out man's skull carefully with his slender fingers and then moving down his body like they were taught by Derek.  
"He's breathing and the damage isn't vital. He's knocked out with a blunt object, and there might be slight danger of severe concussion. He also has four broken fingers on his left hand, but nothing worse than that. Either our target knows what he's doing or he left him alive by accident", Isaac reports, getting up after wiping the blood on his hands on the soldier's uniform.  
Derek shakes his head slightly.  
"Laura wouldn't deal with murderers or rookies", he says, nudging the man with the tip of his boot.

Erica tilts her head, sniffing the air.  
"I smell gunpowder. And blood. Other one of them used gun, and if my nose" she taps it on the side "is right, his aim is better than his current state", she says, gesturing towards the man and walking slowly to the weapon, crouching down to check it.  
She looks up, meeting Derek's gaze and purses her lips. "It's not empty. If he's professional like you say, he would have taken a loaded gun" and the leader of the pack huffs dismissively.  
"Government's guns have GPS-chips in them. Now that the Grimms have started attacking the delivery, Peter has marked them. We can't have our enemies using our weaponry", he says, circling the man.  
His tone is thoughtful, and Erica gets up.  
"You think he's one of them?" she asks carefully after a small moment of silence, and Derek shrugs.  
"I really hope he's not. And they shouldn't be aware of the new technology. But if he is..."  
That would get Laura in major trouble, one that even Derek can't save her from.  
They all stay silent for a moment, Erica and Isaac catching up with his thoughts. The pack knows him and therefore they want no harm on Laura either.

Derek straightens himself, taking a step away from the man.  
"Isaac, get the guy on the infirmary. After you have done that, find Boyd. If Laura's ready, leave and report to Peter and if she isn't... Wait until she is. Do you understand?" he asks gruffly, and Isaac nods.  
"What about Erica?" he asks and Derek cocks an eyebrow at him.  
"We'll continue the hunt. Do you have any more idiotic questions or can we go?" and Derek's tone is slightly annoyed now, like Isaac is being completely obvious to everything in the world.  
Isaac blushes faintly, Erica flashing him slightly malicious smile.  
"No.." he mumbles, glaring at Erica as he swings the still unconscious soldier on his shoulder like he weights nothing.

"Are you sure? I swear I'm better help than Erica if he puts up a fight", he tries then, and Derek gives him a look torn between amused and irritated. "Isaac, we're talking about a single human. A single human who doesn't have even taser with him - Erica is more than enough to handle the situation", he points out and the girl doesn't really know how to react to that. It's really had to tell if Derek's actually praising them or not.  
Isaac sighs in submission, nodding before he takes off.

Derek and Erica start running again, following the trail of scent that even the smell of gases and dirty ground can't hide.  
"He's injured. That should slow him down a little." Erica notes after a while of silence, and Derek glances at her in the corner of his eye. "Again, he's a human. He's slower than us in every possible way" he says, his tone almost condescending and the girl shrugs, her mouth tightening.  
They all hate it when Derek gets like this. Like they're _stupid_.  
"I know that. What I'm saying is that if he has any brain, he knows that too. Especially now when he's shot. So I thought that he has probably few traps ready for us"  
"And..?"  
"And if he does, we should be careful. I'm just sayin'", she adds when Derek looks at her like he can't fully believe what he's hearing. Erica gnaws her lip nervously, waiting for scolding or something along those lines when, to her surprise, the guy does something that resembles a smile.  
"This is why I picked you. Like I said, this boy isn't a newbie", he says, a nugget of pride in his voice making Erica smile widely.

That smile disappears when she's opposed with the sewer.

"Um, ew? I thought this was a classy criminal", she sighs, and Derek growls. "Okay, okay, jeez, I didn't say I wasn't coming! I just… That can't be hygienic. Especially with the wounds the guy carries", she says, wrinkling her nose.  
Derek rolls his eyes, dropping in. His heavy boots land with loud 'thud'.  
The armada of smells hits him like a sack of bricks, dizzying. He lets out disgusted grunt and Erica, dropping in just after him, seems to agree because she lets out small whine and a litany of curses. "I swear to _god_, if we get that kid I'm going to wring his neck." she complains, trying to pull the collar of her uniform over her nose. Derek doesn't bother to answer, starting to walk on the direction he can smell the faint trail.  
Erica can't seem to notice it because her expression is mix of disgust, confusion and annoyance as she looks around and Derek has to gesture the girl to follow. The longer they walk the more Derek's frown deepens.  
There's mixing trails, stronger and weaker over and on each other and he can't seem to find the right one.  
He's not even sure if there _is_ a right one.

"His scent is everywhere." he growls, before his eyes notice the slight, dark glimmering on the walls. He steps closer to inspect it, squinting his eyes. It's too thick to be water and too mild by smell to be anything else but.. He rises his hand to dip his fingertips on it.  
"What is it?" Erica asks, standing right behind him and Derek brings his fingers under his nose, inhaling deeply.

Erica jumps half feet on air when his fist suddenly makes contact with the fall, his eyes flashing striking blue.  
"It's blood! He used his wound to scent the whole block..." he growls.  
The blond cocks her other eyebrow, and then groaning. "You've got to be kidding me! We came here for nothing?" she whines, and Derek glares her. Erica, who had been inching towards the exit, freezes.  
"You're not…" _telling us to get out of here_ "Oh fuck, Derek... It _smells_ in here." she throws her arms up in blunt exasperation, the last words coming out as another whine.  
"We'll find him", Derek says, determined.

He'll be damned if he lets some snotty _human_ out-run him.  
So they keep running around, every now and then finding a shred of the boy's shirt until Derek's on the edge of wolfing out out of pure frustration, and Erica's warning him about the full-moon.  
That's when he finally looks up, his eyes following the ladders up.  
And they're bloody.

"Erica. Up"

#

He doesn't have any idea how long he has waited for the werewolves but when he finally hears noises outside, he perks up.  
He's on the rear of the building, his other leg already outside, the walkie-talkie up on his mouth and following the movements on the front.  
The heavy metal-door creaks open, someone stepping inside.  
He can't see them in the darkness but he can make out the slender figure of a woman and more built shadow behind her.

"We know you're here. And there's no way you can outrun two werewolves, honey, especially not when you have few extra holes"

It's a woman's voice, predatory and dangerous in all its silky softness and sweetness, making him grimace and hold his breath.  
He has to wait until they move inside.

"Come out to play. I can hear your heart. Nervous, aren't you?" she continues, laughing, as she walks forward. She's looking around, her yellow eyes glinting in the idle light.

It takes few minutes of teasing from the female and accompanying grunts from the male before they are both finally in and he talks in the radiotelephone.

"Now"

When he hears the sirens break the silence, a grin breaks its way to his face, stretching his dry lips almost painfully and he counts to five as he slips wholly outside, the small explosive he nicked from the soldier going off inside.  
He cycles the building in just few seconds, opening the door. His hands are shaking and the same second electrical blue eyes lock on him, he seals the circle.  
It's mountain ash, the only way to make sure they won't follow him.

"Sorry!" he yells before he lets the door go shut, leaning on its cold surface as he takes good deep breath. He hears how the snarling and growling pair tries to get through it and he smiles.

Stupid animals.

His legs are numb and his vision is blurry when he finally reaches his Jeep - his beautiful, beautiful Jeep. His Jeep, that never lets him down.  
He stumbles and gets the door open with stiff fingers, slumping against the seat like limp noodle. He takes a few breaths before he feels good enough to open his eyes again, reaching to get his keys from his pocket.  
It takes few tries before he manages to slip his car key in ignition, the metal warm and sticky with blood when he turns it. The Jeep comes to live, purring a little hoarsely under him and he gives it a soft smile.

Esther is the car of his life.

As he starts to drive down the street and over, in the woods, the thoughts hit him with full force.

Is she okay?  
Did they hurt her?  
Would she be okay?

And his hand wanders in his pocket, his fingers brushing the chilling metal of the locker-key.  
Of course she wouldn't be okay.

#

Derek's growls come as waves, leaving his body shuddering and trembling as he fights against the shift.  
The disgustingly sweet scent is heavy around them, not strong enough to be a danger to either of them and his breathing is hard for wholly different reason.  
Fear.  
Pure, uncontrolled fear.

There's nothing implying that the boy would target on killing them, but Derek's brain hasn't registered that yet.  
No, his mind is screaming '_trapfiredeath_' .

Erica's frightened to be locked in the same space with her boss when he's like this, so she's sitting on the corner, her knees drawn to her chest.  
She's staring at the uniform-clad back with wide eyes, her own breaths shallow as she tries to calm her heart.  
They haven't been taught how to manage this kind of situation.

She could try to make Derek snap out of it but the risk that he would lose the last thread of self-control and wolf out on her?  
Ridiculously high.  
But she has to do something... In the spur of moment, she decides to give it a try.

"Derek, please try to calm down" she tries quietly, her voice wavering. She's not even surprised that she got absolutely zero reaction out of the man.  
She clears her throat before trying again, and this time their leader glances at her with startlingly blue eyes.  
Erica feels her throat close on her.

It's only when her leader's claws start to dig on his own flesh when Erica has the bravery to open her mouth again.  
"Derek, seriously, calm the fuck down!" her tone is sharp with fear and Derek finally snaps his head around in a furious growl and scowl and Erica's heart flies away. She keeps talking tho.  
"Look, I get it, you don't like enclosed spaces. I'm with you there! But can you please... _Stop_?" and Derek comes to a halt, his eyes still on Erica as the growling goes down a notch.  
It doesn't completely go away, but Derek seems to finally come back to himself.

He can see the frightened look in those brown eyes and he feels a tinge of guilt.  
"I'm.. I'm sorry" he forces out and Erica can see that it's not easy for him. She can only guess..

"It's okay" and she smiles at him.

#

He grits his teeth as he runs the vodka over his wound, the sting worse than the dull, throbbing pain. He has nothing to sew it shut with, no medical equipment nor anything to staunch the leaking.  
His hands are still shaking, and he curses as he puts the bottle away, letting his head fall against the cold wall.

He should probably look through his emergency-bag.

He doesn't move for a few minutes, resting his eyes before he forces himself to scramble to his feet, his muscles aching. It takes him a while before he finds the 'wc' - there's no working water or electricity -, opening the first-aid-kit with unsteady hands. There's a grenade, a pistol and a couple rolls of bandages and he lets out relieved laugh.

How fucking pathetic would it be if he dies because of _bullet wounds_ in the middle of forest?

He tapes himself with small complexity, discarding his clothes as he goes and soon he's scuffing back to the living room-bedroom-entryway-of the cottage. He drops to sit on the corner, grabbing his hoodie and giving it an once-over. He groans at the sight.

It's not going to survive this.

His grieving is interrupted when his cell phone - yes, they actually have working cell phones. Danny's a wizard - buzzes again and he casts it tired look, before rolling over to pick it up.  
"Mm'yea?" he asks and closes his eyes when Danny's annoyed voice speaks up on the other end of the line.  
"Nah, 'm fine. No, not drunk. Got shot. Yeah, I treated the wounds. Two shots. I don't have anything to sew 'em shut with, but I'm managing, I've got bandages. No, other was clear, went straight through, on the side. I don't think it punctured any organs. It was just a scratch; a scratch that bleeds like a motherfucker, but… Yeah" he sighs. It was good to hear Danny's voice, even though it was calling him an idiot. "I'll tell ya everythin' 'en I get back 'morrow... Got wolves on m' tail. Get everyone ready. We've gotta move, jus' in case" he mumbles, and Danny just sighs one of his specialized 'I can't believe this bullshit'-sighs that are usually dedicated to Stiles, agreeing on that.  
"_Alright. Go the fuck to sleep, you're useless when you're tired. And get here the first thing when you wake up, we'll pack our things_"  
"'kay... Thanks"  
And with that, Stiles presses 'end call', Danny's words playing in his mind. He smiles.

It's nice when someone cares.

When he wakes up at the morning, the outside is still and quiet and his phone is vibrating just few feet away from him. He doesn't remember how it ended up there, but…

Irrelevant.

He crawls to the mobile, turning it over to see who is calling. Obviously, a bad idea as his face scrunches up with the blinding white light.  
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the spots dancing in his vision.  
"D- Hunter? I hope you've got good reason to pester a man on 6am" he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "Yeah… Okay... I'll be there in... Thirty. Fifteen if someone picks me up" he mumbles, his voice sluggish with sleep.  
He pulls the bloody hoodie over his head as he fights to his feet, quickly putting everything on their right places before leaving the cottage. He pats his Jeep as he walks past it ("_Thanks babe, I'll send someone check you soon, okay?_"), starting to walk towards their crossroad.  
What a morning.

He slips past the broken door, heading straight to their living room - the only room they're actually inhabiting.  
Most are still sleeping, Greenberg curled up with two little girls that just lost their mother and others sprinkled all over the floor in sleeping bags. He sneaks to Danny's little corner, trying his damnest not to wake anyone up - they have deserved their rest.  
The light from the computer-screens makes him squint his eyes. Danny's corner holds all the computers and all the very smart, very technology-y stuff which he is not usually allowed to get close to until Danny needs help with something.

Which happens rarely.

He smiles brightly.  
"Hey. Everybody okay?" he whispers and Danny turns around to glance at him. It's not like he didn't know that he came in, Danny's sneaky like that.  
The slightly older teenager takes his head-phones off, hooking them around his neck. He looks tired and wary, even more so than when Stiles had left.  
"Have you been getting proper rest?" Stiles asks offhandedly while he fights the hoodie off himself, Danny swinging around with his office chair. He doesn't bother to answer, shrugging and giving Stiles critical look.  
"You look like shit"  
Stiles coughs a laugh, patting Danny's shoulder compassionately.

"Thanks bro. You yourself look really good. 'Specially that impressive black eye you're sporting, nice touch. Want to show me the catalogue?" the teen asks dryly, starting to go through the bags leaning on the wall.  
He doesn't even need to see Danny to know that the man is rolling his eyes. "Ha ha, _very_ funny. Stilinski, drag your ass on that chair and take your clothes off"  
Stiles grins, finally finding what he was searching for. He rips the baggage of chips open with his teeth, spitting the peace of plastic on the floor.  
"Oh Danny, I get all tingly when you take control like that. And with all these people around? Kinky"  
"Shut up"

And Stiles does as he's told, stuffing his mouth with the food while Danny searches for the first-aid-kit.  
"Working on something?" he asks and Danny shrugs.  
"Maybe?" he sits back down on his own chair, his fingers ghosting over the bruised skin. He first unwraps Stiles's own messy bandages with such gentleness that Stiles has to smile.

Danny's always very careful with injuries and the man says it's because his patients were much smaller before, when he was the one doing all the baby-sitting in Mahealani household.  
They don't really share much about their past lives; it's kind of a taboo here. But when they're beaten down or someone has been a scratch from death, they sometimes exchange memories.  
They talk about the things they usually ignore on daily basis, reminding each other and themselves the reasons why they keep on fighting.

Stiles startles the sharp burn when Danny starts to sanitize the shots, careful and precise.  
"Worst idea ever to use the sewers in this state, you dumbass. What if they get infected, huh?" Stiles grins apologetically, shrugging and wincing when it makes his whole body jerk in pain.  
"What happened? Want to fill me in?" Danny continues, his gaze never leaving the cuts. Stiles whines again, low and long and the elder hushes him.  
"I have to be thorough, and you know it. Now, answer me" he says, but his tone is soft.  
"Psycho-uncle sent his dogs after me, I ran, got shot, the usual" Stiles says with shaky voice before hissing out a curse. Danny hums.  
"Coach wants a full report. I'll contact him after we're done. Oh, and your dad wants to talk with you too"  
"Oh?" Stiles's eyes open again. That's unusual.  
"Mmhm. Said he is concerned about you and that A contacted him and Coach directly few days ago. Warned that something big will happen next full-moon and it would be hard on you"

And Stiles has never felt as tired as now.


End file.
